Fantastic Variations
by The Buzz
Summary: Why didn't Jack revisit Charlie's death in the Gamekeeper's simulation? Daniel wants to know.


_I like the premise of The Gamekeeper, but each time I watch it I can't help but wonder why Jack would relive the death of his old friend rather than the death of his son. It makes plenty of sense from a story-telling perspective (we saw it happen in Cold Lazarus, plus __Daniel also has a family tragedy storyline), but in-universe it's always seemed off to me. __So...I went ahead and made something up. Enjoy._

* * *

"Hey Jack, can I ask you a personal question?"

Jack sighed, closed his locker, and turned around. Had it been anyone else, on any other day, he'd probably have responded with a simple "No" or perhaps a sarcastic but no less guarded, "You can ask." But he knew that he understood more than anyone what Daniel had gone through today, and in any case the younger man was standing in the doorway with his shoulders slumped like a puppy expecting to be kicked and Jack just couldn't stand to be the one to kick him. Not after Danny had seen his parents crushed over and over by an improbable falling slab, powerless to stop it while an army of hooded freaks looked on. It was only reasonable that Daniel would be trying to make sense of what had happened, and there wasn't exactly anyone else he could talk to about it.

Jack nodded tiredly and beckoned him in. "Sure," he said. The question was bound to be about his own experience in the simulation, after all, and Jack sure as hell had a choice set of thoughts on that.

Daniel let the door close behind him, folded his arms, and stared at Jack a few seconds too long before blurting, "Why didn't you see Charlie die?"

Jack felt his face go slack, closed his mouth so he wouldn't look like an idiot, then narrowed his eyes and opened it again to ask, "Huh?" He could only hope Daniel would read the syllable as it was intended, a badge of confusion at the question—which made no sense and went way beyond personal—and even more so at the archaeologist's willingness to stand right there and ask it.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said, closing his eyes briefly, hopefully in order to marshal his thoughts into less offensive form. "I just mean...the Keeper said he was showing us our worst memories, the ones we most wished we could go back and change. Of course I saw my parents, it was the biggest thing that had ever happened to me and it led to years of foster homes and guilt and wondering if there was anything I could have done differently to stop it. But you. Why would you see some random mission gone wrong fifteen years ago when you lost just your _son_ and were so convinced you were responsible you wanted to blow yourself up on Abydos? You didn't wish you could change that?"

Through the breathlessness and slight whine of hysteria edging into Daniel's speech, Jack thought he could hear the unasked question: Does that mean there's something wrong with you, or that there's something wrong with me?

Jack let out a long breath and after a moment nodded to the bench moored between the lockers. Really, there was no part of Daniel's question he wanted to answer, but leaving him so distraught over this just wasn't an option. "Let's sit down," he said. When Daniel only stared at the bench like it might sprout wings and fly away, Jack took the first step and settled his ass down, then waited for Daniel to follow. He didn't speak again until the younger man was seated beside him.

"He wasn't showing us our worst memories," Jack said. When Daniel's brow furrowed in confusion, Jack raised his eyebrows and went on. "Remember? He told me it was the thing I'd replayed most in my mind, wishing I'd done something differently. Big difference."

Daniel shook his head slightly. "But, your son..."

"That operation in '82 was the first time I lost a good friend," Jack went on. Better to start off with that, then ease his way into talking about things he generally made a point to never talk about. For all that Daniel might need this to feel some peace before the day was over, there were just some things that didn't, and would never, come easy. "Not just a guy on the team, but a friend. Knew his wife, had barbecues on the weekend, fished together a few times. A friend. I kept thinking about that raid for weeks after, wondering what the hell I could've done differently so he'd still be alive. And you know what? Never worked."

Daniel seemed ready to comment, but Jack powered on, fairly sure at this point that if he stopped it'd be several years before he was ready to get this confessional again. And somehow Daniel needed to hear this. "When Charlie died..." Confessional or no, he still had to close his eyes at the rush of memories, feelings, the image of his son face-up and still in a spreading pool of his own blood.

"When Charlie died I didn't try to relive a second of it," he finished harshly. "I couldn't. I knew there were a million things I could have done differently but...it wouldn't have changed anything, Daniel. It just would have—" It would have hurt more than he could imagine, and Charlie would have been just as dead. "—Well. I'd learned my lesson. I didn't do it. And I guess our friend the Keeper figured that out."

"Jack, I'm sorry." Daniel at least had the good graces to look ashamed he'd brought up the topic in the first place. "I only thought..."

"I know," Jack said. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," Daniel said again.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Daniel," he said. "Stop apologizing."

"Sorry," Daniel said, then seemed to catch himself, shaking his head slightly. "I mean. It's been a long day. And I promise I won't ask you any more personal questions at least until, well, let's hope that never happens again."

"That would be fine with me," Jack said. "Now," he added in a business-like tone, standing, "what do you say we get the hell out of this place? I'm thinking it'd be a good night as any to enjoy the present with some pizza and a six-pack. Whaddaya say?"

Looking up at him, Daniel managed a watery smile. "Sounds good to me," he said. Then, "Thanks, Jack."

"Don't mention it, kid," Jack said. Mission accomplished. "Now, I know this great place about a half an hour from here..."


End file.
